Casual Affair
by Popering
Summary: Edward wasn't quite the same after his brother's death, but Roy tried to be there for him as best he could. Some things, though, were unavoidable and could not be repaired; along the way, they'd both quietly learned to accept that. Post-CoS AU. Mild unrequited Roy/Ed.


**A/N:** another CoS au, what a surprise... anyway, this one is technically post-CoS and set after WWII, though Ed is still a similar age to his canon CoS self. Alter!Roy is probably around 26-ish. This one goes out to my favorite sinners, Anna and Charlie, who helped come up with this au.

* * *

As Roy Mayes sat on his bed cradling Edward Elric in his lap, he thought of all the events in their lives that had lead up to this moment. Roy could not honestly say he was surprised. He could lie and say he'd never seen it coming. He could tell people he believed it was a tragedy, what Edward had done to himself, that he wished he could've helped the boy.

But really Ed had likely done what was best, as morbid as it sounded. Roy had tried his hardest, but he was no fool. The light in Ed's eyes were slowly dimming, burning out, and losing their luster. Nothing Roy did, nothing he could've done, would've been able to prevent this. He just didn't have the power. He didn't have enough influence over Ed; it was his biggest regret. Roy had been trying for almost as long as he had known Ed to gain his attention, but the younger man just didn't seem to care. Maybe if Roy had put in just a little more _effort_...but what-ifs were pointless now. He would never know.

They both were silently aware of the inexorably destructive path Ed was headed down, and eventually they'd both had to accept it. It was realized in the recent relapse of Ed's old painkiller habit and seen in the brief, bittersweet stares featured after a self-deprecating comment. The distance Ed had always put between Roy and himself was slowly diminishing, a fact which should have been disconcerting to Roy, yet he was too selfish to accept the fact that it was anything less than Ed simply wanting to be closer to him. In fact, Ed _did_ want to be closer to him, just not for the reason Roy wanted it to be. The boy had been trying to silently apologize with physical touch for an action that would later scar Roy's mind and spirit.

Edward was just a statistic now, and that was exactly what he had wanted. Edward had never thought himself too special or memorable; the world didn't need a reminder that he'd ever existed — a fact Roy heartily disagreed with. Ed had wanted his life to be represented as nothing more than a single digit that blended in seamlessly with the faceless, nameless piles of others on a police report. The record of Alphonse's passing had been in a similar manner. His death shouldn't outshine his brother's, not when Al hadn't had a choice but Edward had. Both brothers' legacies would simply contribute to a higher body count on a piece of paper that would later be thrown away and forgotten by everyone who'd seen it. If Al wouldn't be remembered, Ed didn't want to be either.

Roy didn't pity him. He didn't find it particularly tragic either. The only thing he felt was a sort of bittersweet melancholy that tugged at his heart and the corners of his lips when he walked into his bedroom to find that Ed had really done it. His body hung limply, dangling just inches above Roy's bed and looking for all the world as if he was only sleeping. He appeared, for once, as if he was no longer exhausted; as if the world hadn't worn his spirit thin and beat him into subdued resignation. He looked at peace with the brevity of his painful, passing existence.

The doctor walked over to his once-troubled friend and held his cold, stiff hand for a moment. It felt so unlike Ed. Even though his friend had always been rather cold to the touch — always buried under blankets or layers of clothing — there was no faint thrum of life beneath his skin. Roy felt his stomach lurch at the thought.

He brought the dry hand up to his lips and lightly kissed each knuckle before gently placing it back by his side and getting up to cut Edward loose. He used the switchblade from his back pocket for such a macabre task and severed the rope, all the while trying not to drop his friend as he gracelessly toppled into Roy's arms.

It was dark outside, and the lights in the room were off except for a single lamplight on the opposite wall. Roy carried Edward in his arms to the farthest, darkest corner of his bedroom — between the bookcase and the bed — and sat down, hiding him and Ed from the world, cradling the small, golden-haired boy in his lap.

"You stupid fool," he whispered into Edward's hair, "You stupid, stupid boy,"

He squeezed his eyes and gave a heaving sob against Ed's temple, a tear dripping down his cheek to dampen the hair near his bangs. His small body felt so chilled, so unnaturally cold. He cupped the side of Ed's head, pressing it closer to his warm chest and grabbed a blanket off the bed. He wrapped Edward up in the soft, threadbare fabric; a vain, irrational attempt to keep him warm. He made sure to tuck the blanket under his boney, bare feet so that he was completely covered. Edward shouldn't be cold, he shouldn't have to hurt anymore; it was Roy's responsibility to make sure he was as comfortable as possible, even in his passing. His fingers wandered over the bruises and marks encircling Ed's neck. It was the only sign of death on the boy. Roy covered it with the blanket.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," the older man murmured into the top of Edward's head. He wasn't sure why he said it. Maybe he was sorry that his friend had felt such a strong need to end his life. Maybe he was sorry he couldn't save him. Maybe he was only sorry for himself.

But if anything, Roy was almost happy for Edward despite the tears and sobs that said otherwise. What had Edward ever gained from his life? As far as Roy knew — would ever know — Edward's life had only ever been riddled with sorrow and strife. He'd tried to be optimistic; believe that if he gave something of himself that he'd get something in return. Roy watched slowly as that belief crumbled under the constant pressure of _give, give, give_ , but never once had Ed received.

Roy thought back to the first time he had met this particularly sad fixture in his life.

* * *

His shoes were soaked. Roy didn't mind much, if it weren't for the fact he could feel blisters starting to form on his toes and heels. The day was overcast and rainy; unfortunately, umbrellas didn't work when it came to puddles on the ground. He was thinking of heading home; it was rather miserable today and Roy had gone all the way out here on his own leisure time.

He had been walking around the ruins of a part of London that had been bombed during the war and never repaired. He supposed he wasn't expecting the trip to have been a _pleasant_ one, per se, but he didn't really want to stumble around the uneven pavement with bleeding feet. He might as well start making his way back towards the train station.

As his leather shoes splashed another puddle which splattered onto his pant leg, he caught sight of a slumped figure in a damp, dark alleyway. He was sitting on the ground, unmoving and staring at his own feet. Roy cautiously approached, as he had never been one to turn away from those who may need help. Not to mention, he was the only other breathing figure Roy had seen since getting off the train.

"Hey, are you alright?" Roy asked, a bit dumbly.

The man, more of a boy, Roy realized, gave him a lazy glance before quickly averting his eyes again. He didn't respond. Roy may still have been in medical school at the time, but he wasn't stupid. The size of the kid's pupils were hard to miss; he was high as a kite.

Roy crouched down so he was more level with him. He cautiously put a finger under the boy's chin and tilted his head up so he could look him in the eye. The kid's eyes went wide upon seeing Roy's face, but shortly narrowed once he regained his composure.

"What'd you take, hm?" Roy asked him, though all he received in return was a half-hearted glare.

"Look, I'm not trying to get you in trouble. I just want to help, make sure you're alright, okay?" He tried to compromise.

"I don't...need your help," the golden-eyed kid retorted, albeit with great effort.

"What's your name?"

The kid kept his narrow, yet hazy gaze on Roy, as if judging his worth; "...Ed," he finally relented.

"Well, Ed; what are you doing sitting by yourself in this alleyway? In case you haven't noticed, you're soaked to the bone. You've gotta be freezing your ass off," Edward just kept staring at him. Roy wondered if he was able to comprehend what he was saying, "Don't you have a home to get back to?"

"No..." Ed shook his head before hanging it, looking back down to the cobblestone street, "They tol' me Al was dead. Tol' me he died here...so I figured..." he looked back up at Roy with his glassy, unfocused eyes, "Have you seen him?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't," Roy didn't know what this boy looked like or even know who he was, but if he was supposedly dead, and if he supposedly died _here_ , then it had been well over a year since his passing. Not only that, but Roy hadn't seen another soul all day.

"Oh..." Edward hung his head once again, this time in disappointment, "Well...you woulda liked him...you woulda," he explained.

This kid was obviously on some kind of opiate; painkillers, heroin, opium — Roy wasn't sure. He hoped to god it wasn't heroin; he didn't know if he could get anyone, let alone a kid, off of that godawful shit. At any rate, he had to get this boy off the street. It was barely above freezing and night would be falling not too long from now. If Ed didn't even realize how wet and cold he must be, he would easily freeze to death by morning.

Roy took off his coat and wrapped it around Ed's shoulders before hoisting him to his feet.

"H-hey!" Edward protested weakly.

"C'mon, you can't stay here tonight. I'm bringing you with me," Roy decided right then, despite his better judgment. If Ed had been sober, he surely would've resisted more than he had. However, at this moment he didn't have the strength or energy to do much more than stand there before being dragged away by a stranger, ostensibly to his house.

He told Al goodbye in his mind before they left the crumbling ruins and let Roy lead him down the street. Edward watched blankly as Roy bought two train tickets and ushered him through a crowd and eventually aboard a train where he'd passed out against Roy's shoulder. Roy would occasionally feel his neck for a pulse, just to be sure.

The soon-to-be doctor didn't really know what he was doing as he sat and watched the scenery pass by, both of them en route to his apartment. Roy didn't know a single thing about this poor kid, but here he was, taking him into his own home for who knew how long? What the hell was he doing? This boy could be dangerous, but Roy couldn't very well let him die in the street. He didn't have much choice here.

When the train reached their stop, Edward wouldn't wake up. Roy ended up carry him to his car and then into his apartment where he laid Ed down on the spare bed in the guest room. He put a hand over the boy's nose just to feel the (unusually slow) puffs of warm air on his palm, just checking. You could never be too careful.

Roy flicked the light off and prayed Edward wouldn't run off by morning.

* * *

Edward had been living with Roy for a little over a week. In that time, Roy had learned Edward was actually soon to turn twenty, though he hardly looked seventeen at his oldest. The doctor supposed it was his height, or lack thereof, that made him seem so young.

Roy had also discovered that his new flatmate's arm and leg were fake. That had caught him off guard at first, but he wouldn't let that affect his judgments about Edward. Roy actually ended up spending the better part of that afternoon trying to massage out the massive knots that had formed in Edward's shoulder and thigh.

Ed would deny it fervently, but Roy swore he saw a tear of relief slip down his cheek.

Right now though, the only tears Ed cried were ones of addiction, pain, and desperation.

Ed had been abusing a cocktail of painkillers. It was one of the most dangerous things Roy could imagine someone doing. Fortunately, he knew that while opiate withdrawal was painful, it was in no way a threat to Ed's life. If Edward could go just three or four days without it and get it out of his system, he could beat this.

Currently however, he was on his knees, hands fisted in Roy's coat near his hip and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Please!" He cried, "It hurts! Roy, it hurts! Please!"

"Shhh...Edward, listen to me," Roy crouched on one knee but Ed just hung onto him more tightly, "just give it two more days," it sounded horrifying and ridiculous even to Roy. There was no way Ed would last that long. He'd be lucky if he could last another hour, "if you can do that, I promise it won't hurt anymore,"

"I can't! I can't!" He practically screamed. Roy's heart broke in his chest a little bit, "It's hurts too much, Roy, too much! I can't move! It hurts!" He was wailing. He was begging Roy for anything. He knew now that Roy was a doctor and that he _must_ have something that would satisfy Ed's addiction.

"Edward...please," The older man felt his resolve wavering.

"I need something! _Anything!_ Roy, p-please!"

Roy looked Ed in the eye. His face was red and his eyes were puffy. His cheeks were smeared in tear tracks and snot. Frankly, he looked small and pathetic, sitting on the floor hanging on Roy like a child with severe separation anxiety and begging him for drugs. He was pleading with every fiber of his being and honestly, it was scaring Roy.

Ed had been vomiting all day until the only thing left was bile. He ended up dry heaving by the time lunch rolled around. He had been doubled over and clutching at his stomach since late last night.

He laid on the floor for the most part. Every muscle in his body was throbbing and aching. He felt like he had been hit by a truck, or maybe he'd been set on fire. If he stayed still for any length of time, the pressure on different parts of his body got to be too much, but moving hurt even more. He couldn't stop writhing, and the frustration of nonstop agony meant he could only cry and scream as a form of relief. No matter what he did he couldn't make the pain stop.

He hadn't slept or eaten in two days. He'd asked Roy to 'knock him the fuck out' so he wouldn't have to endure this cruel form of torment. Surely, Roy was just a sadistic bastard who only wanted to watch him suffer; he shouldn't have any problem beating Ed into unconsciousness. Roy had been unable to lay anything but a comforting hand on the kid.

"You bastard!" Ed screamed at him with his eyes squeezed shut, "I hate you! I never should have come with you! I fucking hate you, you son of a _bitch!_ " He sobbed brokenly, one hand fisting his shirt near his abdomen and the other clutching his head as he tried to curl into a ball on the ground. His hands were shaking so badly you could see his arms trembling with the motion.

Roy moved to stroke Ed's hair. There wasn't much he could do besides that. It was the only way he could think of to ease Edward's misery and his own guilty conscience. When his fingers brushed the blond's bangs from his face, Ed screamed.

"Don't touch me!" He shrieked, "If you touch me again, you better kill me!"

"Edward," he tried his best to sound soothing. Ed just went limp and sobbed harder.

"Please...just kill me," he cried weakly, his face buried in the hardwood flooring "I-I can't do it anymore...just kill me already...please,"

Roy felt all his resolve crumble away at the soft, sad tone of Ed's voice. It didn't sound as if Edward was saying it simply because he was in pain either, but Roy couldn't be certain. He didn't really want to think about it either.

"Ed, I'll be right back okay? Don't go anywhere,"

If Ed could've gotten up, he would've thrown himself out the window or down the stairwell by now. As it was, he just continued laying on the floor, not acknowledging that Roy had spoken; it took too much energy to make any sort of attempt at a response.

Roy was ashamed of himself, but that didn't stop his descent to the office space he also rented on the first floor of this apartment building. He couldn't bare to see Ed this way any longer.

He walked to a cabinet full of different prescriptions that he now made sure he kept locked at all times. He fished out a couple of OxyContin tablets before sighing sadly and running back up to his flat. Ed was surely cursing Roy in his mind.

The purely mad, hysterical desperation in the kid's eyes when he saw Roy had a couple of familiar pills almost made Roy turn tail and run. Edward looked like he was ready to attack him for them if he didn't hand them over in the next three seconds.

The younger man laid back down on the floor and cried after downing them soldier-style before promptly passing out. Roy picked him up and was once again disturbed by the lightness of his weak frame. His bones may as well have been made from toothpicks or straws. The doctor set him on the couch and buried him under a pile of blankets. He stayed by him the entire day, carefully monitoring his breathing and heart rate, afraid to leave him out of sight for too long.

* * *

Maybe it was cruel, but sometimes a little cruelty was necessary in order to do someone a kindness.

The next time Roy tried, he made sure to tie his friend to the bed while Roy stayed out of the apartment as much as he could. He couldn't bare to listen to Edward's harrowing wails all day and night.

He left him bound for 5 days, crying and helpless and shrieking that he was going to kill Roy or himself when he was let loose.

Looking back weeks later, Edward had never been more grateful.

* * *

To both Roy's delight and chagrin, Ed had cleaned himself up a bit and found a decent job; on the other hand, his demeanor since sobering up had become more withdrawn and subdued than Roy had anticipated. Without Roy's insistence, Edward had begun guiltily paying half the rent. It was almost all of his measly wage and the taller man almost wanted to tell Ed to stop. He figured it would only make matters worse though; he didn't need Ed to be smothered in self-recrimination. It was a suspicion of his that his new flatmate had a bit of a complex about it. Edward was always blaming himself.

If Ed dropped a glass, he would force Roy out of the kitchen so he couldn't help clean up. He wouldn't even let him take care of the cuts he got on his hands after handling broken shards. If the both of them burnt a meal on the rare occasions they could cook together, the younger man insisted he would make up for it, as if he was solely at fault. Even if it was something as random and trivial as a leaky faucet, Edward would find an excuse to lay the blame on himself.

Roy had been hoping for a more outgoing, agreeable Edward after his forced intervention, but the spark he imagined to be in his roommate's eyes afterward never appeared and his smiles always fell just short of convincing.

Edward seemed to work on autopilot. He got up every morning for work and ate the breakfast Roy left out for him (as he was long gone by the time Edward awoke), before doing just enough to get by at the run down old corner store down the street. He'd come home every evening, long after Roy had arrived, and eat a late dinner with him. He spoke very little, though it wasn't out of emotional coldness. In fact, Edward radiated an imperceptibly friendly warmth, but it was tired and worn; it was as if Ed had been doing this for years, like it was an act he was running out of energy for.

Roy watched Edward as he was for a long time, not quite sure how or if he could help. Did Edward need help? Did he want it? The older man didn't know what was going on in his friend's head, especially since Ed wouldn't talk to him. It was even more concerning when Roy heard him tossing and turning in his sleep, presumably from nightmares. The doctor tried to subtly bring it up, but Ed just shrugged him off. He shrugged a lot of things off, insisted he was fine. Nothing was ever a big deal to him, it seemed.

The only time the amber-eyed kid seemed to show any exaggerated emotion was when his deceased brother was mentioned. It had taken awhile for Roy to get the full story behind his friend's beloved brother.

The first time he'd brought it up with Edward, it was simply an experiment. Ed gave him a cold glare that stated 'don't go there' plain as day, but the older man ignored it.

"When I first...met you," Roy started lightly, noticing Ed wincing to himself at the thought of their first encounter. The blond hadn't exactly meant for anyone to find him stoned out of his mind in a back alley, "you told me about you had a brother. You, well, you told me that he died but that I would've liked him. I don't know if you remember that or not...care to elaborate?" It wasn't subtle, but Roy wasn't trying to be stealthy around a boy who seemed to have little trust to give out in the first place.

"Not really," Ed stated as he looked away and shoved his hands under the dinner table. He didn't like talking about Al; he wasn't fond of crying, especially in front of other people.

"Well, what made you say I would like him? Just out of curiosity," Maybe he could get Ed to open up more if he had him focus on the better memories of his brother.

"Because everybody liked Al...he was just a likeable person. I don't think there was anybody who _didn't_ like him. He was polite and kind. He was always friendly and upbeat and optimistic; the happy-go-lucky type, you know? Everyone that met him loved him. He was the complete opposite of me," Ed explained tiredly.

Roy was a little surprised at that declaration, "What do you mean? You're a likeable person, Ed,"

The blond just shrugged and held his face in his hand, "I miss him," he confessed, "We always used to write letters — back when the war was going on — but one day they just stopped coming. At first I thought maybe they just got lost in the mail, so I kept writing back anyway, but I still never got anything," Edward wondered why he was telling Roy this. He was on a fast track to retelling things he didn't want to remember, but for some reason he found he couldn't stop.

"What happened?" Roy urged when Ed paused to stare intently at the scratches on the table.

"It was another six months before I got home. I thought maybe Al was mad at me for fighting in the war. He was always against killing people — we both were — and even though he said I couldn't help being drafted I thought maybe he'd changed his mind. I was so scared he would hate me," Ed huffed a laugh even though his eyes were watering, "It was a lot worse than that, though," he noticed a tear slipping out.

Roy stopped his fiddling with the stove to softly pad over to Ed and gently hold onto his hand. He hoped he wasn't crossing any kind of boundary.

Ed almost pulled away, ashamed at showing any kind of emotion. Instead he just looked at his lap and continued relating the worst horror he'd ever endured. He didn't think he could've stopped even if he'd wanted to. It was like a dam in his brain had burst; he couldn't handle this on his own anymore. His mouth just ran away with his mind.

"They mailed a fucking letter to our own mailbox, can you believe that? What the hell? It was in there, buried under all of the letters I'd sent while I was away and never got a reply to. I don't know how they figured out it was Al, or that I was his brother and that I lived there with him but still didn't know I was off fucking fighting in the goddamn war. It's just...they...they didn't even have the decency to try and find me as soon as possible," Ed took a gasping breath and Roy squeezed his hand, onto which a tear fell. Ed vainly swiped at his eyes.

"I got home and he was just gone. The house was dark...and dusty...all the food in the fridge was moldy and rotten. It was so empty...it was so lonely. I don't think I'd ever felt so alone before. The house had never been that quiet; I couldn't stand it. It was too big and I felt like I was suffocating in all that goddamn silence. It was too eerie. It was like I was an intruder in my own house. Every day, every single fucking day, I waited for him to come home. I sat by the front door all day, but he just...never came back," Edward looked up at Roy with red, watery eyes, "Did you know I never even got his body? They couldn't find it...I don't even know where it is!" he wailed.

Roy didn't know what to say. He didn't _have_ anything to say. The only thing he could think to do was step forward and hug Edward's head to his chest. Ed squeezed his eyes shut and took another gasping breath before breaking into a round of sobs.

"Oh god..." He exclaimed in a strangled voice, eyelids clenching even tighter, "I hope it didn't hurt...I hope it didn't hurt when he died...I couldn't forgive myself if it did!" Roy felt tears dampen his shirt. The blond fisted his hands in the sides of Roy's sweater.

"Do you think it hurts, Roy? Do you think dying in an air raid hurts?" Ed was practically shaking Roy, pleading with him to answer; he needed to know.

"I don't know...I don't think so, Ed," it was the best Roy could come up with because truthfully, Roy _didn't_ know. He didn't think anyone did, but now wasn't the time for that. In Roy's mind, the only thing worse than a little white lie was uncertainty about your brother's last moments. Ed shouldn't have to wonder if his brother died in pain; if Roy could reassure him even a little, he had done some good.

The older man wasn't sure if he'd been able to do that, though; Edward just clung to his sweater even tighter and started falling half out of his seat. His cries only got louder as they both were lowered to the floor, Roy trying to situate Ed in his lap but failing. Edward didn't seem to care that his face was buried in the crook of Roy's hip.

He couldn't get the image of his brother dying out of his mind. No matter what had happened, it had to have been gruesome and horrifying. He could've been blown to bits, or he could've burned to death. Maybe he'd been crushed under the weight of a whole building. Edward's mind raced with all the gorey possibilities that he couldn't stop imagining. Did Alphonse know he was dead? Was that possible? What had his last thought been? Had it been of Ed? Did he still love his brother or did Al despise him for letting him die by himself? Edward had always been bad at protecting Alphonse the way he was supposed to. He only ever fucked up. This time he couldn't fix it.

He was sobbing so hard and so loud that he couldn't breathe. He was trying but his throat was too tight and his chest would only spasm instead of rise. It felt like a load of bricks were being piled on top of him. He could feel Roy running his fingers through his hair and trying to calm him down, but Ed just shook his head.

The blond boy was a loathsome sight; moaning Alphonse's name into Roy's side over and over again, like he was trying to conjure him up from the grave. Edward was alone now. He had no family left. He wanted his brother back.

"How-how can I keep going without him?" Ed wailed, though it was muffled by the older man's sweater. Roy felt the vibration of his throat through his clothing.

Edward vaguely recalled Alphonse saying something similar after their mother died, then how horrifyingly fast their lives shattered around them. Everything was a cycle, and history was about to repeat itself once more.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'll finish this regardless, but it'd be nice to leave a review !


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